Mistress (2): Teeter-Totter

Mud around the ankles, like a first beard filling in.
Toes dimple the mud. Trough-like
sleep lines.
Pink carriages along the cheek.
Arms wide, I do not know
if she was mother or semaphore.
Invariably,
some daughter pushes off, her skirt
parachutes; the mew gulls shrink.
At either end, it is dawn. The night’s dew crowns
the cartridges our feet have made, heel divots,
each meniscus
bronze with low daylight.